


Ambiguous

by draculard



Series: Pellaeon/Thrawn 30 Day Ficlets [17]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Alien Creatures, Alien Planet, Camping, Fluff, Grumpy Old Men, Huddling For Warmth, Humor, M/M, Mission Fic, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26490394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Pellaeon has been lying awake in his sleeping bag for nearly an hour when he rolls over and meets Thrawn's eyes.
Relationships: Gilad Pellaeon/Thrawn | Mitth’raw’nuruodo
Series: Pellaeon/Thrawn 30 Day Ficlets [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904581
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	Ambiguous

The cave system was damp and far colder than Pellaeon would have liked, but all things told, he’d been on worse missions before. It helped that Thrawn was here with the rest of the landing party, lending an air of confidence and certainty to everything they did. 

Pellaeon had to hand it to the Grand Admiral; he never seemed to flinch. Not when they had to wade waist-deep through a swamp, not when the heavy torrential rain started late in the afternoon, and not even when those strange eye-snakes had leapt out of the grass and tried to take the Grand Admiral’s nose off with their razor-sharp fangs. Thrawn had simply stepped back when the creature jumped at him, as casually as he might duck a highly-telegraphed blow, and took the eye-snake’s head off with a well-aimed shot from his blaster.

Now, stranded more than six kilometers from their shuttle while the heavy rains continued and night fell, Thrawn only looked up to the sky, his posture relaxed and his gaze steady, and said in a mild voice, “Make camp for the night, Captain.”

Pellaeon nodded and turned to relay the order to the men. His heart dropped at the thought of spending the night on the hard cave floor, but there were too many advantages to argue with Thrawn — especially since their scanners showed no major life-forms inside, only insects. Even the eye-snakes were blessedly absent. 

He watched the men, a motley assortment of troopers and officers, unstrap their packs and start to set up camp for the night. Beside him, Thrawn did the same thing; he’d changed into standard military fatigues before the trip, eschewing his white uniform, and clearly that had been a better idea than Pellaeon could have guessed — Thrawn’s fatigues, like all the rest of them, were coated in dried swamp-mud up to his hips. He'd held his pack above his head as he waded through the swamp, something most of the men hadn't been capable of for an entire kilometer, and as a result he was perhaps the only person in the cave whose pack was entirely clean. 

Pellaeon laid his bedroll out against the cave wall, mindful of the general lack of space in the area, and rooted around in his pack for a change of clothes. It was stuffed away at the very bottom of the pack, sealed in a waterproof casing that he had to unzip with his fingernails. By the time Pellaeon got his clothes out, everyone else in the caves was shuffling out of their uniforms silently and awkwardly, avoiding each other’s eyes.

Well, everyone except Thrawn, who had positioned himself at the mouth of the cave to stand watch while his men were vulnerable. Pellaeon eyed him, taking particular note of the way the rain had tousled and dampened Thrawn’s hair, even as he stepped into the change of underwear he’d packed. Thrawn's hair was a little wavy, he noticed, when it wasn't carefully combed into a more professional style. He stared openly, enjoying the sight for perhaps a little too long. By the time he’d pulled his t-shirt over his head, most of the men had finished changing, leaving all of them in long-sleeved or short-sleeved versions of the same uniform: their skivvies.

Not pleasant, Pellaeon thought, grimacing as Thrawn abandoned his post and picked his way through the scattered bedrolls.

But at least now he got to watch _Thrawn_ change. 

He packed his mud-soaked clothes away and pulled out the rations bars he’d brought with him, sitting on his bedroll and munching on it with studious casualness as Thrawn approached. 

“I passed the watch roster to Lieutenant Fael,” Thrawn murmured, coming to a stop less than a meter from Pellaeon. He started unbuttoning his loose-fitting fatigue jacket as he spoke; he'd taken a spare uniform from the store room before they left rather than waste time getting a tailored templet from the quartermaster. “You don’t stand watch tonight, but tomorrow both of us will. It’s one-hour shifts until dawn, which gives us roughly nine hours to sleep — more than we need, perhaps, but I think after today’s trek that number will be optimal, and certainly appreciated by the men.”

Pellaeon nodded, acting like he wasn't completely and utterly distracted by the blue skin currently on display. Thrawn’s abs were far more well-defined than any man his age had a right to be. He startled a little when Thrawn unbuttoned his trousers, hooked his thumbs into the waistband, and shucked them and his underwear off all at once, stepping out of them with the efficiency of — well, of a military man changing in front of his colleagues. Pellaeon turned away, keeping his eyes on his rations bar and definitely, 100% not on Thrawn’s dick.

He looked back just as Thrawn, now clothed in a long-sleeved undershirt and a pair of tight-fitting black trunks, folded himself onto his bedroll. He accepted the rations bar Pellaeon handed him without complaint, and apparently didn't notice when Pellaeon's eyes darted down to take stock of the package on display. Rather irritatingly large, he decided; it wouldn't kill Thrawn to be less-than-average at something for once. He turned away again, chewing silently and watching the men settle down for the night.

The rain drummed down outside, and a chill draft swept through the caves, the temperature plummeting until even Pellaeon was shivering. Beside him, Thrawn's whole body was tense as he tried to finish his meal in the cold. 

Quickly, Pellaeon gobbled down the rest of his rations bar and then crawled into his bedroll, brushing the crumbs away and pulling the thin blanket tight around him. Around the cave, everyone else was doing the same thing — except for the two soldiers on watch, who still wore their fatigues. Thrawn watched as everyone settled down for bed, taking his time with the rations bar even as the cold made him shiver. And Pellaeon, with his head propped up on his hand, watched Thrawn, quietly taking in the sight of Thrawn out of uniform, Thrawn in nothing but his underwear, Thrawn with his hair in disarray and softened by the rain. 

Thrawn turned his glowing eyes on Pellaeon. His lips quirked in an ambiguous little smile.

“Goodnight, Captain,” he said. 

Pellaeon grumbled under his breath and turned away.

* * *

He woke halfway through the night, during the change of shifts, and rolled over on his back. His legs ached from being curled to his chest for too long; his left arm, the one he’d been lying on, was numb. And his back was practically screaming at him, begging him to take a cocktail of painkillers and give it a good stretch.

The best he could do was toss and turn for a bit, stretching as far as he could in the bedroll and wincing in pain. The rain outside sounded even heavier than before, and all around him, the soldiers seemed to be fast asleep — except for him, of course, and the two standing guard.

After a full forty-five minutes ticked by, Pellaeon sat up with a grimace. His muscles felt like they’d been filled with sand — and rather clumsily, too. It was like the sand had poured straight through some of his veins and now there were tiny grains of it caught between his muscles and bones, needling him throughout the night. Some of the aches came from old battle scars; others, most of them, came from age, which wasn’t exactly something he wanted to think about right now.

He pulled one leg up to his chest and twisted to the side, trying to stretch out his lower back — and found himself staring directly into Grand Admiral Thrawn’s red eyes. 

His hooded, sleepy, somewhat irritated eyes.

“You don’t sleep quietly, do you?” Thrawn said under his breath, a faint accusatory note in his voice. Pellaeon winced, letting his leg slide back down beneath the blanket.

“Sorry, sir,” he whispered. He started to fold his arms beneath his head and then grimaced, rubbing his shoulder instead. “Old aches and pains.”

Thrawn’s face didn’t exactly soften at that, but he did seem to come a little more alert, studying Pellaeon in silence. He was still staring at Pellaeon when a violent shiver wracked his body and he, like Pellaeon, rolled over onto his back.

“Cold, sir?” asked Pellaeon, his eyebrows raising.

Thrawn hissed out a breath, his teeth chattering for a moment before he clenched his jaw. “Freezing,” he said. His bedroll was bunched around him tightly, and from the disheveled state of his hair, Pellaeon guessed he’d been huddled under the blanket before poking his head out specifically to glare at his first officer. 

“I’m not being _that_ loud, am I?” Pellaeon asked, a little wounded. His breath was visible, turning into fog in the air before him. 

“You’re tossing and turning,” Thrawn said; it sounded to Pellaeon like he heard the complaint in his own voice and tried to stifle it halfway through. His voice was slightly nasal, too, as if the damp and chill of the cave had jump-started a head cold. “It’s a little distracting.”

“Well,” Pellaeon huffed, trying to control his own irritation and match Thrawn’s neutral tone, “it’s not like I can help it, sir. These bedrolls don’t exactly provide a lot of cushioning.”

Thrawn didn’t answer for a moment. He slipped his head beneath the covers, shivering so violently that Pellaeon could see the bedroll quivering above him. Finally, Thrawn poked his head out again, rubbing his ears and looking more annoyed than before. He sniffled absently as he studied the room, taking in the sleeping forms all around them. 

“This is perhaps less than ideal,” he said quietly. “Yet no one else appears particularly affected. Perhaps the rest of the cave is not so cold or…”

“Or cave-like?” Pellaeon asked. Thrawn shot him a peeved look. “I think it has far more to do with the fact that you and I are roughly forty years older than everyone else here, sir,” Pellaeon pointed out.

“Hmm.” Thrawn considered it, still covering his ears with his hands in an effort to rub warmth into them. “Perhaps.” His eyes shifted over to Pellaeon, scanning down his bedroll with such intensity that Pellaeon started to feel uncomfortable. “We can solve both problems at once,” Thrawn said, his voice toneless.

“Oh?” Pellaeon said, one eyebrow raised.

“We can share,” said Thrawn matter-of-factly, lifting one hand off his ear to point at his bedroll. “You would have extra cushioning if we stacked our bedrolls together.”

Pellaeon furrowed his eyebrows, fighting back a reflexive rush of heat to his face as he imagined sharing a bed with Thrawn. “But that wouldn’t solve your problem at all,” he said. “If your bedroll is beneath mine, we can’t exactly use it for cover. You’d be no better off than before.”

“Body heat,” said Thrawn simply, weathering out another harsh shiver. He slipped his hands beneath the covers again, apparently unable to bear the cold air. Then, without waiting for a response from Pellaeon, he unzipped his bedroll and crawled out of it, gesturing for Pellaeon to sit up. 

Silently, they worked together to stack their bedrolls as perfectly as they could, with Pellaeon’s on top. He pulled the top bedroll open, ushering Thrawn in first so that they could trap the body heat around him, and then folded himself in as well. They fumbled over each other to get the zipper working, Pellaeon searching for it blindly, while Thrawn could see but couldn’t get his shaking hands to close around the tab. Eventually, they had the bedroll sealed and lay down together, Thrawn squirming down next to Pellaeon until his head was beneath the covers.

They were pressed close against each other — closer than Pellaeon had been to anyone since — well, probably since before Endor, as pathetic as that was to admit. He rolled over on his side and slung an arm over Thrawn’s waist more out of necessity due to lack of space than anything else; his hands slipped beneath Thrawn’s shirt for a moment and he flinched at the coldness of Thrawn’s skin — but Thrawn grabbed his hand at once and kept it pressed against his ribs. 

At the same time, he leaned backwards until his back was firmly against Pellaeon’s chest, their hips slotted together, Thrawn’s bare legs entwined with his. 

“Your feet are _freezing_ ,” Pellaeon whispered.

“Mm,” Thrawn said, not sounding apologetic at all. He twisted his ankles to an uncanny degree and pressed the soles of his feet against Pellaeon’s calves, soaking up the warmth with no regard for Pellaeon’s comfort. “Is this a thick enough mattress for you?” he murmured; from the muzzy quality of his voice, Pellaeon guessed he was already half-asleep. “Or do you need to sleep on top of me, as well?”

Pellaeon stopped breathing for a moment, imagining himself sprawled out over Thrawn’s chest, with that sizable package he'd noticed earlier poking against his thigh. “Ah, no,” he said. “This is fine.”

And it was, more or less. Two bedrolls were certainly better than one; he could no longer feel the uneven rock floor of the cave beneath him. Or at least, he couldn’t feel it quite as badly. He let his head tip forward, burying his nose in Thrawn’s hair; he felt the cold skin of Thrawn's chest and ribs start to warm, however slowly, beneath his hands. Shivers wracked Thrawn’s body off and on for the next minute or so, his teeth chattering every once in a while until the bedroll started to heat up and he finally relaxed.

“You smell like rain,” Pellaeon told him, whispering the words into Thrawn’s hair.

“You smell like swamp water,” Thrawn replied. “Go to sleep.”

* * *

He woke shortly before dawn, warm and relaxed and more comfortable than he had been in years. Past the mouth of the cave, Pellaeon could hear the sound of a light, drizzling rain and the whispers of the two guards. He shifted slightly, tightening his grip on Thrawn, who was fast asleep.

Then, dimly, he heard a pair of quiet footsteps going past his head as the guard changed.

“Aw, look at that,” Ensign Rellert said under his breath, stopping near Pellaeon’s head.

“How cute,” whispered Lieutenant Vawe. He was standing on Thrawn’s side of the bedroll. “Think we should wake them before everyone else sees?”

“Nah,” said Rellert. Pellaeon kept his eyes squinched shut, trying to disguise the irritation and embarrassment that were making a muscle in his jaw jump. “Leave them be. This is probably like a little honeymoon for them.”

The two officers started to walk away. As they left, Pellaeon heard one of them say in a whisper,

“You owe me fifty credits, by the way.”


End file.
